


The Dragon and the Rabbit

by Rivkah94



Category: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket (Anime 2001), Fruits Basket (Anime 2019), Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)
Genre: Comfort, Family, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 01:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivkah94/pseuds/Rivkah94
Summary: Hatori's guilt weighs on him whenever he thinks of Momiji Sohma and the day he erased his mother's memories. He's spent years avoiding the boy, but a chance meeting forces him to actually speak with Momiji, and what he has to say surprises the doctor-in-training.





	The Dragon and the Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> I continue my exploration of relationships in Fruits Basket with Hatori and Momiji. It's clear they're very close since Momiji is always appearing with Hatori and hanging around his house. He also knows the details of Hatori's most traumatic experience, so Hatori probably trusts him quite a bit. I wanted to think about how that relationship started. I also like imagining Hatori as a college student.

Hatori sighed under the weight of the bag slung over his shoulder. The flap bounced with every step, unable to be pinned down due to the bulk of the books inside of it. It was summer vacation, and he’d been compelled to return to the main house for the duration, leaving the apartment he shared with Shigure and Ayame to collect dust by itself. His friends had taken off to the Sohma summer home already, but he couldn’t afford to spend the break goofing off - he was a medical student after all.

He grimaced as the fabric of his shirt stuck to his back and pulled. The trek from the university library to the Sohma estate was not short, but he wanted the exercise. Med school was not conducive to much time spent outdoors. And yet . . .

Was it really worth it in this heat?

He groaned and swung the bag off of his left shoulder and onto his right. Perhaps I should invest in a bicycle, he thought as he meandered across an empty street. Heat aside, it was a beautiful day with not a cloud in the sky, a welcome change from the week of rain the city had just endured. He was almost tempted to stay out, go to a park, read in the shade of a tree. But Akito would be angry if she tried to visit him and he wasn’t there, so he dutifully continued on his way, wiping his brow as the walls to the Sohma estate rose up before him.

Akito. She had been growing more and more volatile these last few years, and Hatori had to steel himself whenever he saw her with any of the other zodiac, especially Yuki. The memory came to him unbidden - erasing the children’s memories of Yuki as he cried. It had been several years since that incident, and the rare times Hatori saw Yuki, he was far too pale and completely withdrawn.

“Shouldn’t you worry about your brother?” he asked Ayame once a few months ago.

“Worry?” Ayame blinked at him, a look of genuine confusion in his eyes, “Why would I worry?”

Hatori slammed open the door to his house and kicked his shoes off in the entryway. Just thinking about that response made him want to strangle Ayame all over again. Was he any better himself though? It’s not like he was swooping in to rescue the kid either.

His bag hit the floor with a mighty THUNK, and Hatori stepped into his kitchen and began to prepare a pot of coffee. He felt a headache coming on, and for a moment wasn’t sure if it was the caffeine withdrawal or his thoughts of Ayame that brought it on. Either was equally likely.

The house was spacious - far more than necessary for a single, twenty-year old man. He’d been living in it alone since his father passed away a few years prior, and, not that he’d ever admit it to the two of them, returning to it after living with Shigure and Ayame was always nothing less than awful. It was too quiet, too neat, too big. He would take nagging Shigure to clean his dishes and take his laundry out of dryer over this loneliness any day.

He did the only thing it made sense to do to cope - he readied himself to study. Placing his coffee mug on his desk, he squatted down and began rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a massive anatomical volume and a notebook with a creased and cracking spine. He slid a small planner out of his pants pocket and flipped to the relevant chapter he’d assigned himself in the library tome.

With another swig of coffee, he slid into his desk chair and opened the notebook. He grabbed a pen from the desk drawer and had just put the tip to the paper when there was a knock on the frame of the sliding door to his left. He sighed. It was always something, wasn’t it.

He stood and walked over to the paper door, sliding it open and finding himself face to face with one of the many employees who manned the inner house of the Sohma estate.

“Excuse me, Hatori-san,” he said with a sheepish smile, “I”m sorry for disturbing you during your studies, but the head of house has called for you.”

She really had such impeccable timing, didn’t she? It’s like she knew exactly when would be the least convenient to send for him.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, and slid the door shut.

He walked around to the front and pulled his shoes back on, setting off on the well-worn path to Akito’s rooms. When he arrived, she was alone and in a terrible mood. It wasn’t hard to guess why - her face was covered in sweat and her breathing slightly labored. He felt a pang of guilt for resenting her call, followed by the familiar rush of affection that no amount of abuse could diminish. He felt that it was a type of love no one else in the world experience, aside from his fellow zodiac members.

Hatori knelt beside Akito’s futon, and she shot him a cutting glare.

“What took you so long?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face as unreadable as always.

He knew it pissed her off to no end, his carefully calculated emotionless expression, but it was better than letting her read everything thought that passed through his head.

“Whatever,” she grumbled, “I feel terrible.”

Hatori reached out and put a hand to her forehead. She was only just thirteen and more fragile than a child of her age should be. It sometimes seemed like the wind would blow and fever would take her. Not for the first time, Hatori wondered what sort of effect the zodiac bond had on her. It wasn’t the kind of thing he could ask though. Maybe Shigure could, but even then Hatori doubted Akito would actually be able to answer. It was hard to verbalize, this feeling between all of them.

“You’ve got a fever,” he announced.

“I could’ve told you that!” Akito snapped, “Do something about it!”

Hatori reached for a glass of water that sat on a tray beside the bed and held it out to her.

“I can give you some medicine, but the real cure will be to stay hydrated and rest. And try not to get overheated in this weather. Where’s your fan?”

Akito pointed to the closet and made no move to take the water from him. He sighed and placed the cup back on the tray. He rose and stepped across the room. He slid the closet door open and removed the floor fan that leaned up against the back wall. He brought it to Akito’s side and plugged it in, pulling it back to put a few feet between it and the head of the house. He flipped it on, and Akito squinted as the air blew across her face.

“Medicine?” she prompted.

Hatori motioned for her to wait a moment and stepped out of the room. He kept a supply in one of the hallway chests since she was sick so often. He returned to her bedroom a moment later with a pill and held it out to her, offering her the class of water once again. She took it this time and dutifully took the pill, though she didn’t look too happy about it.

“Try to sleep,” he said, “And try to keep visitors to a minimum. If you get too worked up, you’ll only stay sick longer.”

“I don’t get worked up!” she snapped, slamming her empty drinking class down on the tray, “Take that out and ask someone to bring me more. Goodbye.”

And then she lay down, turned her back to Hatori, and pulled the covers over her head.

* * *

The sun was setting, and Hatori leaned back in his desk chair and stretched his arms up to the ceiling. He had an awful crick in his neck, and he was startled to see it was already dinner time.

Shit, I forgot to buy groceries while I was out.

With a groan, Hatori pushed himself away from the desk and stood, massaging the back of his neck with his fingertips. Convenience store dinner it would be . . . again. He had lost track of time while studying last week and had only been shaken from his stupor when Shigure dropped a takeout bag of dumplings on top of his notebook.

“You have to eat, Haa-san,” the dog had announced, “Otherwise you’ll pass out and fail all of your classes, becoming a black mark on the good Sohma name, never again to reclaim your honor!”

He’d then made Hatori listen to his latest book idea - the story of a young doctor who fell asleep while performing a surgery and went on an existential journey to find his true place in the universe - while they ate. Ayame insisted on acting out the story, and Hatori never got to finish his homework that evening.

“Damn it,” he muttered as he pulled on his shoes, “I hope a pipe bursts at the lakehouse.”

The evening hour did nothing to alleviate the heat, and Hatori’s shirt clung to him once again as he beelined to the refrigerated section of the nearest convenience store. Since all he had to do to occupy himself was studying, he decided he would go all in. If he could spend the days in his books, then perhaps the vacation would pass him by mercifully fast. He loaded his arms with a variety of prepared meals and stumbled to the checkout counter.

The clerk looked at him with mild amusement as she scanned his items.

“Are you a university student?” she asked as she ran his card.

“Um, yes, actually.”

She grinned and passed the card back.

“You have that look, just like my daughter. You should remember to relax a little! I’m sure your mother would say the same.”

“I’ll do that,” Hatori muttered as he took his bags and walked out the door.

His mother hadn’t been alive to tell him to do anything for years. He still missed her, though she had not been particularly affectionate. Maybe he missed the idea of her, since he had only been in second grade when she died. Was that a cruel thing? To miss an idea and not the person? He could imagine Ayame’s response to that question.

“You always think way too much about these kinds of things, Hatori! Oh, I know, let’s go to a burlesque show to take your mind off of it!”

Hatori shook his head and snorted as he passed through the gates to the Sohma estate once more. He needed to stop having imaginary conversations with his friends. If he continued then he wouldn’t miss them nearly as much, and they would start annoying him much sooner once they returned. The sun had gone down completely now and the lights along the cobbled paths within the inner house had come on. Hatori was about to turn toward his house, when he heard an odd noise and stopped.

He looked around, but he didn’t see anything or anyone. Then he heard it again - a loud snort and a sniffle. Was it somebody with a cold? He took a few steps toward the shrubs on his right and finally spotted a tuft of blonde hair, stark against the grass and bushes where the light hit it. Curled up in a ball and tucked away under the porch of a nearby house, the shrubbery blocking most of the view from the path, was Momiji Sohma.

Hatori’s stomach dropped with so much force he thought he might be slammed down into the earth. He had not laid eyes on Momiji Sohma since the last new year, and even then he had done his best to avoid ever looking in his general direction. He had been avoiding looking at, talking to, or coming within five feet of Momiji Sohma ever since he had erased his mother’s memories four years ago.

The guilt he felt about Yuki’s friends was nothing compared to his feelings about that. His own mother had not been thrilled to have a child that turned into an animal the moment he was put in her arms, but she had never tried to erase him from her life. Well, maybe she did, and he just didn’t know about it, but that was far better than going through life knowing that your mother could not even stand to remember that she birthed you.

He didn’t know what to do. Momiji was shaking, his face down on his knees, sniffles followed by the occasional snort carrying across the lawn.

I am the last person this boy wants to see.

Hatori walked on for a few more feet before pausing again. How old was Momiji now? Eight? Eight. Far too young to be left alone at night, crying underneath a house. It was unlikely that whoever may come looking for him would find him there. Maybe that was the point. Hatori certainly never liked people to see him cry.

I can’t just leave him there.

Hatori turned and stepped through the bushes, trekking across the grass toward the gap into which Momiji had wedged his small body. He crouched down in front of the boy.

“Hello,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say.

Momiji startled and rammed his head against the porch above him. The grocery bags slid from Hatori’s hands as he reached toward Momiji.

“C-Careful!” he exclaimed.

Momiji held his head and let out a small sob. It might have been from the pain in his head, but Hatori had a feeling that was minimal compared to whatever else was going on.

“Hatori-san,” Momiji whispered, wiping his sleeve across his nose, “W-What are you doing here?”

“That’s my line,” Hatori replied, “Shouldn’t you be at home, eating dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Won’t your father be worried?”

Momiji stared at Hatori, a tear running down his cheek.

“I don’t live with Papa . . . He still lives with Mu . . . Mutti . . .”

Another sob shook the child’s body, and Hatori felt like his heart had stopped for a moment. He had spent so long trying to avoid Momiji Sohma, that he realized he didn’t know anything about what had happened after his mother had her memories taken away. His father had really sent him away? He supposed it would be hard to fabricate a lie that kept them all together, but that was really . . .

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said firmly and stood up, “I’m going to walk you home.”

Momiji shook his head.

“I can’t go home!”

“Why not?”

“I p-promised Papa . . . that I would do my best to smile. The nannies will tell him if I’m crying like this a-and and then he’ll be sad.”

This is so fucked up. Our family is so fucked up. I fucked up this kid’s entire life.

“You can come home with me, then,” he said, “I won’t tell your papa anything.”

Momiji stared up at him like a deer in headlights, more startled than when Hatori had said hello.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing either, kid.

Hatori held up one of his shopping bags.

“I haven’t eaten yet either, so let’s have dinner. You won’t grow properly if you don’t eat enough.”

“O . . . Okay.”

Momiji crawled out from under the porch and stood up. He was a short kid, even for an eight year-old. His parents were both pretty tall, so maybe he would grow. Hatori winced as the image of Momiji’s mother, tall and slender and half-crazed, standing in his doorway, came to mind.

“W-Where do you live, H-Hatori-san?” Momiji asked, still crying and making no effort to stop. He probably couldn’t.

“This way,” Hatori pointed and started walking.

He glanced behind every few moments to check that Momiji hadn’t run off, but the boy was always there, his head down and eyes trained on Hatori’s heels as he rubbed at his running nose and watering eyes.

When they reached the house, Hatori’s stomach was growling audibly. He kicked his shoes off and left them in a heap by the door. Momiji watched in awe, his image of a well-mannered and stone-faced Hatori slowly melting away. The boy removed his own shoes and left them neatly side-by-side before racing after Hatori into the kitchen.

Hatori lay out all of the meals he had purchased on the table.

“Pick one you like,” he said.

Momiji looked them over, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot. He ran his sleeve across his nose again, and Hatori reached for a tissue box. He held it out to Momiji.

“They’re soft so your nose doesn’t get raw,” he said.

Momiji wordlessly plucked a tissue from the box and blew his nose. He pointed to a meal with hamburger, and Hatori cracked it open and stuck it in the microwave, choosing a meal for himself and shoving the rest haphazardly into the fridge. Momiji stood in silence, the flow of tears beginning to slow in the face of Hatori’s personal habits. These small, messy tendencies were nothing compared to most people, but in Hatori were so shocking to the little boy who, until now, could only imagine Hatori has a looming, ominous figure sitting across from his mother in his father’s office or flanked by Shigure and Ayame, his face turned away during New Year’s dinners.

The microwave beeped, and Hatori swapped Momiji’s meal for his own, placing the container on the table with a knife and fork. He gestured for Momiji to sit as his own food heated. Momiji gingerly slid into the chair, his eyes never leaving Hatori as the university student gathered his own cutlery and sat down in the chair across from Momiji.

“You should eat,” Hatori said, taking a bite of his own food, “It’s late for dinner as it is.”

Momiji nodded and began to pick at his food. Truth be told he was hungry, but he was also so drained he didn’t much feel like eating. He managed a few bites before dropping the fork into the container and staring down at the table.

Hatori continued to eat, trying to find anywhere to look but directly at Momiji. The silence was heavy and awkward. He didn’t regret bringing the kid over or feeding him, but he had no idea how to proceed. Hatori did not have much experience with children, and he’d spent years explicitly avoiding any experience with this particular child. He wished he could call the lakehouse and ask his friends for advice, but Ayame never spared his younger brother a second thought, and Shigure was an only child. All the zodiac were, except for Ayame.

Think, Hatori, think. You’re in med school, you can figure out how to talk to a kid.

“Will you really not tell my papa about this?” Momiji suddenly asked.

Hatori nodded and swallowed.

“I never see your papa anyway.”

“Do you see my m-mutti?”

“. . . No. I’m usually living in an apartment outside of the estate with Shigure and Ayame, so I don’t see much of anyone, except over vacations.”

“Oh.”

Hatori figured there was no reason to delay the real question he wanted to ask any longer, no matter how tactless it might be.

“Why were you crying?”

Momiji was silent, and after a few minutes Hatori understood that he wasn’t going to get an answer.

“It’s fine. If you’re done eating, I can bring you home now.”

Momiji clutched the seat of his chair, his knuckles going white. A fresh sniffle escaped him. He shook his head vigorously.

“I c-can’t,” he said, “If I cry again then . . .”

I really fucked up this kid’s entire life.

“Stay here then.”

Momiji looked up, a tear rolling down his face and dripping off of his chin.

“Can I?”

“Yes. There’s only me here, so it’ll be fine.”

“You don’t live with your mu . . .your parents, Hatori-san?”

“Both of my parents passed away.”

“Oh,” Momiji’s voice was small, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was a few years ago now.”

More silence. Hatori focused on finishing his meal and then disappeared into the hallway to fetch linens from the closet. He hadn’t bothered to make the bed in his old room in . . . well, years. Not since he took over his parents’ master bedroom. The sheets smelled a little musty from the time spent collecting dust, so Hatori opened a window in the bedroom and gave the covers a good shake.

Momiji stepped slowly down the hallway and stood in the doorway, watching as Hatori made the twin bed. He leaned against the doorframe. His memories of Hatori had always existed in a haze - Hatori was there, but barely defined against the image of his mother begging to forget, an image that had seared itself so securely into his mind that he saw it when he closed his eyes. This Hatori . . . He was far more - and also less, in a way - than Momiji had ever imagined.

He did not seem quite so old, quite so refined, with his scattered shoes and tower of microwave meals. He was awkward - not sure what to talk about with someone he barely knew. But he was also one of the only people who did not admonish him for his tears. He was very matter-of-fact, and Momiji did not feel like he was trying to hide anything. He didn’t insist that Momiji go home, that all would be well, like someone just trying to wash their hands of the issue. Momiji had experienced that far too often when trying to talk to the adults at the Sohma estate.

“You can sleep here,” Hatori said, pulling Momiji back into the present moment.

“Is this your room, Hatori-san?”

“It was.”

“Oh. Thank you for having me, Hatori-san.”

Momiji bowed. Hatori waved off the boy’s polite words.

“It’s . . . the least I can do. After . . .”

Coward. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. I’m such a coward.

Momiji didn’t acknowledge the unspoken, but he stayed in the doorway.

“Are there any pajamas I could . . .”

“Oh.”

Idiot. Of course he can’t just sleep in his dirty clothes.

Hatori left the room and returned moments later with a button-up pajama shirt of his own. Momiji was so small, and Hatori so tall, that it would be a nightgown on the boy. Momiji took it gratefully, and Hatori lingered for a moment before muttering,

“Well, goodnight,” and closing the door.

Momiji listened to Hatori’s footsteps recede down the hall before he moved to the window and pulled it shut. He closed the curtains and changed into the shirt he’d been given. The sleeves completely engulfed his hands, and he struggled to free his fingers enough to button the garment. He crawled into bed and turned off the bedside lamp, lying in the dark, marveling at his unusual situation, and trying desperately not to think of what he’d heard his mother say earlier that day . . .

* * *

Hatori rubbed his eyes. They were starting to burn, but he only had two more pages left in the chapter he was studying. He sat, hunched over at the desk in the living room, the only light coming from the small desk lamp. A mug of coffee that had long since gone cold rested beside his notebook, and he carefully pushed it away. The last thing he needed was to spill it all over his notes. He yawned. Only two more pages -

“Hatori-san.”

Hatori nearly jumped out of his skin. It’s not like he’d forgotten that Momiji was staying the night, but his instincts were so attuned to being alone in this house that the boy’s voice caught him completely off guard. Also, it was nearly two in the morning. He turned to Momiji.

“What is it?” he gestured to the clock on the wall beside the desk, “It’s late.”

“That’s my line, Hatori-san,” Momiji said as he rubbed one eye.

Hatori blinked at the boy. Was that a . . . joke? He ran his hands through his hair.

“I’m in medical school,” he said with a yawn, “So I have to study a lot if I want to be a doctor. I was just finishing for the night.”

“Do you always work this hard, Hatori-san?”

“I . . . try to. But sometimes, things slip through the cracks.”

“University sounds really tough.”

Hatori nodded.

Hang on, why are you having a conversation with an eight year old at two in the morning?!

“Why are you awake?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Momiji fell completely still, and his gaze dropped to his bare feet. Hatori leaned forward in his desk chair and noticed for the first time that Momiji’s nose and eyes were red.

“I . . . Couldn’t go back to sleep. I keep t-thinking about . . .”

“About what?” Hatori asked quietly.

Momiji sucked in a big, shaky breath, and took a step closer to Hatori. He raised his head and met the doctor-to-be’s eyes.

“This afternoon, I was following M-Mutti around. Papa always tells me I shouldn’t because if she seems me then . . . maybe something bad will happen.”

Hatori’s fingers tightened around the arms of his chair, his knuckles going white. It was like being stabbed through the stomach every time Momiji talked about his mother.

“But I want to see her, even if she doesn’t want to remember me, I want to remember her! And I’ll have a little brother or sister soon, and I want to . . . maybe someday . . . be able to tell them what it was like when mama was pregnant with them.”

Momiji’s composure began to crack.

“She was talking to one of the ladies who works in the house, and the lady asked how she was feeling. And Mutti said she’d been feeling really sick lately, but that . . .”

Tears began to stream from his eyes, and he began to take quick, shallow breaths. Hatori reached out and grabbed his shoulders.

“You’ll get sick, breathing like that. Take a deep breath. Momiji?”

Momiji blinked through the tears and puffed his chest out as far as he could, drawing in a big breath. It came out stuttered.

“What did she say?” Hatori murmured.

Momiji’s voice was high and squeaky.

“She said, ‘But despite all of that, I’m just so excited. I’ve wanted to be a mother for so many years - I can’t wait for my first child to arrive.’”

The words hung in the air between them, and Hatori thought he could feel them wrap like a rope around his neck. Momiji was weeping now, but it was silent. If Hatori turned away, he would be able to pretend there was nobody else in the room.

“I’m sorry,” Hatori choked out, “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

But sorry doesn’t fix anything. I fucked up this kid’s-

“You’re really kind, Hatori-san,” Momiji croaked out.

That stopped the tears that had formed in Hatori’s own eyes dead in their tracks.

“What?”

“You let me stay here, and you let me talk about Mutti, and you don’t just say: ‘You have so much to be happy about! Think of all of those things. This isn’t something to cry over.’”

“Do people . . . really say that to you, Momiji?”

Momiji nodded and let out a noise that was half hiccup half sob.

“The people who take care of me . . . just want me to smile and make it easy for them. They want to make it easy for Papa. Nobody wants to make it easy for me.”

I hate this curse. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could make it easy for you, but I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t think there’s a way to make . . . any of this easier.”

“ . . . Even when you’re grown up . . . it doesn’t get easier?”

Hatori shook his head, and Momiji opened his mouth in despair. Hatori leaned closed and put his forehead against Momiji’s.

“It doesn’t get easier, but . . . you try to find people you can rely on, to help you when it’s hard. Shigure and Ayame are my best friends, and even though some days I just want to punch them, when things are hard, I can talk to them about it. I’m not the best at . . . at talking, but they can tell when something is bothering me, and they help.”

“I saw it,” Momiji whispered, “When you took Mutti’s memories away. I snuck in because I wanted to see it. I was hiding in the hallway.”

Hatori’s eyes widened.

“Momiji-”

“I remember it all the time. When I’m trying to sleep, when I’m going for a walk, when I’m eating lunch . . .”

“Would . . . Would you like to forget it?”

“No!” Momiji screeched, pulling away from Hatori, eyes wide.

“I won’t!” Hatori exclaimed, “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t,” Momij repeated firmly, “I don’t want . . . to forget anything. I don’t think it’s okay to forget even the bad things. If you forget the bad things that happen to you then . . . you forget how to be kind to other people when bad things are happening to them.”

Hatori stared at the boy for a long moment.

“Momiji . . . you’re very . . . wise.”

“O-Oh.”

“Do you know that?”

“People usually tell me that I’m cute or cheerful . . .”

“Do you like that?”

“I don’t . . . not like it. But sometimes I think what they really mean is that I’m cute, and that’s all I’ll ever be.”

Hatori stood up and approached Momiji. He knelt down in front of him and put a hand on his head. He gently ruffled his hair.

“You understand a lot of things that only adults do . . . Things that even many adults, including me, don’t understand. I’m sure that will be frustrating sometimes, but you can come complain to me, if you want. When the adults are being stupid, or unfair, or cruel. You can even complain if it’s me.”

Momiji bit his lip.

“Are you sure, Hatori?”

Hatori nodded. This was the least he could do for the boy whose childhood he had helped destroy. One of the few things he couldn’t talk to Shigure and Ayame about was the sense of responsibility he felt as one of the oldest zodiac members. His friends would laugh that off, asking ‘Why?’ But if he could help at least one of them with all the things he had already confronted, he needed to.

Momiji smiled a few more tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Thank you, Hatori. And it’s okay, you know.”

Hatori froze.

“It’s not your fault. You did what Mutti asked. In the end, it was her decision.”

“That makes it all the worse, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It does.”

Hatori sat back and crossed his legs with a sigh as Momiji gathered himself, wiping his eyes on his enormous sleeves.

“Hatori . . .”

“Hm?”

“Can I . . . stay with you in your room the rest of tonight?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Momiji smiled even wider this time, a sparkle flaring to life in his eyes. Ah, this is what most people see, isn’t it? Hatori smiled back. It was hard not to, looking at that face. He flipped off the desk light and led Momiji to his bedroom, stepping into the bathroom on the way so he could brush his teeth. He rinsed his face and ran a towel over it, staring into the mirror for a moment afterward.

I hope I can help you smile like that only when you want to, Momiji, he thought as he turned turned off the light.


End file.
